


Taking Out the Trash

by Ims0s0rry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Smut, Swan-Mills Family, we are all shipper trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shippers have moved into the Swan-Mills' trash, making Emma very uncomfortable. She tries to get Regina to trade chores with her since Regina doesn't seem to mind them, but convincing her of anything is a difficult task. I'm living up to my username with this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Out the Trash

It's kinda funny, Emma thinks, that she finally got her forever family and a home -- complete with the chore chart -- only after she gave up actively wishing for it. She's not upset about how long it took though, not if it means that everything is perfect. It's not what she'd been imagining: who knew that she'd have a baby brother younger than her son (that family tree is all sorts of fucked up) and that she'd fall in love with her son's adopted mother and finally settle down in a town populated by fairy tale characters? But even if it's not conventional, it's hers and she doesn't need to save the day all the time now that Storybrooke's stopped being bombarded by villains and she's content. She's happy. That doesn't mean it's all smooth sailing in paradise. She and Regina still have their spats, but that's just the way they are. Still, they're not as bad now because they can have all the loud, angry make-up sex they want now that Henry's off at college. A sort of example being the following...

It's a brisk Friday evening after dinner, and Emma's clearing the table when Regina reminds her that she needs to take out the trash. 

Emma pouts. "Can you do it?" 

"Taking out the trash is your job. We agreed," Regina says as she rinses the dishes and stacks them in the dishwasher.

"But I already take the trash out everyday, as the Sheriff. I'm the one who keeps the streets clean." 

"Emma, locking Leroy up for public intoxication every once in a while hardly qualifies as 'keeping the streets clean'."

"Can't I trade with you? Please? Whatever you want." She knows her voice is whiny but she just really does not want to.

Regina raises an eyebrow. "Even mowing the lawn?"

She knows that Emma hates mowing the lawn more than anything. Regina is such an avid gardener that there's barely two adjacent patches of grass. Emma keeps threatening to borrow a tractor from one of the farms and cut everything down to size. 

"Anything. Please?"

"What's so bad about taking out the trash? You begged for it when you first moved in."

"Yeah, because it was easy. Now it's just...weird."

"In what way?"

Emma stares down at her feet and mumbles, "It's weird having people live in our garbage."

"They don't bother us. They seem like perfectly nice, if a bit odd. They tell me to have a good day when I go to work."

"Well, yeah, but I just feel bad piling our trash on top of them."

"They said they love it!"

"Maybe that's because they don't know any better!"

"So go out and convince them to leave!"

"I can't. Not after you upgraded the bin to a dumpster so they wouldn't be squatting on the lawn. I can't evict them after that."

Regina folds her arms. "So what do you want me to do?"

Emma puts on her best puppy eyes. "Will you please take out the garbage for me?"

"No." Regina grabs a bottle of Merlot and opens a cabinet, reaching for a wineglass before pausing. "Would you like some?"

"Yes please, but whyyyyy?" She follows Regina out into the living room, accepting a wineglass as they sit on the sofa.

"I'm not going to come in between you and your fears. This is something you need to work out yourself."

"I'm not scared of them!"

"Then go take out the trash, or talk to them. It's not my fault that we make such a good couple that we attract squatters. We challenge each other and sacrifice for each other and know what it's like to have the whole world against us and..." She frowns. "There were definitely a myriad of reasons, but some of them started sobbing and drowned out the others."

"Fine," Emma grumbles but her devious mind has already started scheming again. She doesn't want to dump rotten food and hair on the poor fans.  _Maybe I can get her to switch chores with me if I get her super drunk._

Two and a half bottles of expensive red wine later, Emma is having a hard time keeping her goal in mind, especially because Regina gets handsy when she's drunk. 

"As mayor, I hereby decree that you're only allowed to wear ponchos from now on," she slurs in Emma's ear, running her hands over the back of her thighs.

"You know you need the approval of the council for any new laws and who would ever second that? That's a stupid rule. My ass looks awesome in jeans."

"I'm very aware of that fact. Hence that law."

"Hmm?" is all Emma can manage. She's a bit breathless.

"I have to peel these jeans off you. And I'm the only one who gets to admire your butt. Ponchos would rectify that." Regina's hands are scrabbling at the hem of her tank top.

"If I have to wear ponchos, so do you."

"How do you figure that?"

"How many pairs of pantyhose have I ripped? Not to mention The Straining Button of Everlasting Promise."

"What button?"

"There's no way you don't do that on purpose."

"What do you mean?"

"Every time you wear a blouse, you unbutton one too many buttons and the one that needs to keep the whole thing together looks like it's two seconds away from taking someone's eye out."

"...I hadn't noticed," Regina muses.

"So yeah, poncho for you too."

"But Burberry doesn't make ponchos! None of the designers I wear make ponchos."

"Are you serious? That's what you're worried about?"

"Well, even if they did -- and they'd have to be cute -- I wouldn't wear one anyway."

"Ha. Then I don't have to. Besides, other people can look, but you're the only one who can touch. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose so. Now let's go upstairs. I'm not going to do this on the sofa again. You always end up jabbing me somewhere with your pointy elbows."

...

"Oh hey," Emma says, "I wanted to ask you a question." She figures now is the best time since Regina is still very drunk and gets grumpy if she talks too much during post-sex cuddle time. Not that Regina will ever admit to being a cuddler.

Regina doesn't stop kissing her way down Emma's neck. Emma takes that as consent to continue.

"Would you mind trading chores with me?" It isn't until the words leave her mouth that she realizes what a mistake it is. There is no better way to kill the mood than to bring up responsibilities.

Regina pauses and sits back on Emma's thighs. "Is this what this is all about?"

Emma's inner alarm bells have started to ring shrilly, even as tipsy as she is. She knows she's in very deep trouble. "No...kinda, not really. You know me; I'm terrible at subtlety. It just kinda happened. Besides, you know I'm always in the mood," she says quickly, trying to remedy the situation.

Regina's eyes glitter with malice. "Two can play at that game."

 "Regina, what --"

But she's being kissed roughly and her train of thought derails and explodes violently as a hand snakes in between her parted thighs. Regina circles her clit with almost an absent-mindedness as she whimpers and cants her hips for more.

"You're such an idiot," she purrs, tugging on an earlobe with her teeth. Insults in bed really shouldn't be this hot, but then her mind goes blank again as a finger slides inside, rubbing the ridged flesh that makes her arch her back.

Another finger joins the first, both curling in a beckoning motion. Emma is a bowstring, the tension mounting until she feels like she'll snap.

And then, quite suddenly, Regina withdraws her magic fingers. Emma arches her back again, seeking some sort of release.

"Uh-uh, Miss Swan, you need to learn that people who try to manipulate me are punished."

Well, fine then. She reaches down herself, only to have her forearms pinned. Regina looms over her with a little smirk. "Don't try to circumnavigate the rules."

She gazes up at her, a desperate question in her eyes.

"Promise me you'll take out the trash and there'll be no more complaints."

She struggles weakly, trying to press herself against Regina somehow, but to no avail.

"Okay, fine. Just please..." she snaps.

"Good girl." And she gives her clit a feathery touch with the pad of her thumb.

Emma tenses and then relaxes, sated.

Regina kisses her gently and then stands up, gliding towards the bathroom. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Take out the trash. You promised..."

"This is slave labor!" She is indignant, or as indignant as she can be naked in bed and coming down from a high.

Regina turns, a wicked smirk on her lips. Unlike Emma, her bareness only increases the danger in her expression. "Hardly, especially if you're being especially well compensated," she says, and swipes her tongue along her fingers.

Emma falls back with a groan.

...

She inhales sharply before she straightens up, opens the door, and marches out to the driveway, trash bags in hand. As she nears the dumpsters, there is a flurry of commotion as someone squeals, "She's here! Emma came to see us!" The call is taken up by others and by the time she reaches them, they're all standing up, clinging to the edge of the dumpster like puppies being held back by a fence. Their faces are sallow from too much screen time though, and there are clear tear tracks cutting through the grime on their skin.

"Hey," she says with an awkward smile. "Trash day's tomorrow. Sorry about that."

"What do you have to be sorry for? We love when you come out to talk to us!"

"And the bags make good pillows!" Someone adds from the back.

Emma grimaces. "These can't be good living conditions. Are any of you even eating? How do you sleep outside in Autumn in New England?"

There's a chorus of "But we love you!" and "This is a fanfic. No one has to deal with logistics" and "We ARE your trash" and "We're here to fangirl over your lesbian happy ending and protect you from the other shippers!"

"Wait, what? Other shippers? Are they dangerous? I'm the sheriff, if there's something suspicious in town, I need to know."

"Arrest that shady ho, Mother Superior!" a voice calls out, but it's quickly muffled by retorts of "There's no evidence against her!" and "It's a plot hole at this point."

"Anyway," one says, "there's nothing super threatening about CS'ers and OQ'ers but some of them are assholes. They're unhappy about Swan Queen being canon so sometimes they stir up trouble."

"They would've egged the house if we hadn't driven them away," someone else adds, holding up a lethal-looking driver.

She narrows her eyes. "Are those the golf clubs Archie reported missing a week ago?"

They suddenly look shifty and ashamed. "We'll return them after the others stop making trouble."

"Give me those." She takes the proffered bag and scowls. "Any more crimes and I'm kicking you all out of Storybrooke, understand?"

They nod solemnly.

"Good. Now wait for me a minute."

She enters the house and rifles through the closet next to the front door. She grabs the stash and accompanying ammo and goes back outside before she can think about what she's about to do too hard.

"I don't want you guys to do any damage, but if it comes down to it, you guys should be able to defend yourselves, right? Don't go crazy," she says as she hands out the paintball guns. "I can't believe I'm arming homeless kids. But I'm the sheriff of a small town in Maine with no prior credentials and I do what I want."

"We won't disappoint you!"

"I hope not. Good night."

"Good night, Emma!"

...

Emma is downing the last of her coffee as Henry lets himself in. "I'm home!"

"Hey kid. How's everything going?" It's still a little startling to see how tall and mature he's gotten. She tries to keep the tearstained "you were knee high to a grasshopper when we first met" monologues to a minimum though because he hates it. 

"Good. I'm almost done with my midterm project for my history seminar. I just needed to grab a few books I had lying around upstairs."

"And not to visit your moms?"

"Well, that too," he says with a cheeky grin. "Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs in the bath."

"So, uh, how's the situation out there?" He jerks his head in the vague direction of the driveway.

Emma sighs. "Your mom's such a softie. She got another dumpster since the cult's expanded. To make things worse, similar gatherings are happening on the docks by the Jolly Roger and the Lockley's place. And it seems that they're all enemies. Storybrooke might have its own three-way gang war soon." She bangs her head on the kitchen island. "Why can't they all just get along?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Your mom enables them, but she won't enforce anything. She completely ignores the strain on the Storybrooke wifi and the odd wailing noises they make when they get too emotional, which is a lot of the time."

She gets up to wash out her mug.

"So you're still taking out the trash?" Henry asks carefully.

"Yeah," she grumbles. "Your mother is impossible to persuade."

He breaks into a huge grin.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Henry..." she says in her best Mom voice.

"It's just that...she's got you so whipped."

She stares at him for a few long moments before she sprays him with the sink nozzle. "That's for being a sassy little shit," she crows over his sputters.

But he grins again as they hear a "MISS SWAN" from upstairs. He mimics a whip cracking and scrambles up the stairs to the safety of his room, sending water everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> You bet your face I'd be in that dumpster. And I'm sorry there's not a lot of description (I'm bad at smut). And I'm also sorry if I offended anyone. This is just what I think goes on in the OUAT fandom, if both the fandom and the show existed on the same plane of existence.


End file.
